Momming

Buck Up, Little Camper

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

I feel like I have been hearing a lot lately from my mom friends about the mistakes they make as parents, and how bad they feel about those mistakes. I feel like they are trying to own their mistakes and learn from them, and that’s good. We SHOULD learn from our mistakes. That’s one of the things I am always reminding The Boy–that it’s OK to make mistakes, because mistakes teach us something. But a lot of the things I have heard lately haven’t left me saying “Way to learn from your mistake!” Instead, they left me wanted to give the blogger a hug and tell her “You’re a better mom than you think you are.” Because they felt filled with a self-judgment with which I am all too familiar.

Wow, do I totally know that feeling. When The Boy was born early, I blamed myself for my water spontaneously breaking in the middle of an otherwise normal, healthy pregnancy. I felt like I should have known something was going wrong, somehow, like, I should have been more in touch with my body, or something? I mean, who else’s fault could it be? Not my doctor, who was monitoring my pregnancy exactly as thoroughly as she should have been. Not my husband, who was not carrying The Boy in his body. Not The Boy, who was the most innocent of all. Who did that leave for me to blame? Only myself, even though the reality was that I didn’t cause my water to break anymore than my doctor, The Hubs, or The Boy did. It took some therapy and some crying and a lot of time to get to the point where I didn’t judge myself for that, that I could accept that despite my best intentions, my body just couldn’t do what it needed to do.

Honestly? I think a lot of parenting guilt is like that. Nobody I know goes into this parenting thing saying “I want to be the shittiest parent ever. I really hope I fuck this kid up, but good.” We are all trying our best, and some days our best is better than other days, and sometimes we make mistakes, and sometimes, despite our best intentions, bad things happen.

Let me put it another way. Think of the thing you are saying about yourself as a mom, the thing that makes you feel like a bad parent. And I want you to imagine that instead of you saying it, it’s your best friend saying it about herself. What would your reaction be? Would it be “Yeah, she’s a horrible mom, and she should feel awful”? If not, then sweetheart, you’re Judgy McJudersoning yourself. And Judgy McJudgersoning yourself is just the same as Judgy McJudgersoning someone else. You’re not helping.

Look, I get it, this is hard. It’s easy for me to say “Buck up, little camper” because what’s happening to you is not happening to me. Just remember while you beat yourself up that the rest of us out here believe in you, and we know you’re an awesome mom, no matter how much you aren’t feeling like you are right now. We’re here to lift you up when you feel like a failure, and help you get back on your feet again.

And I am sending you a giant hug!

Control

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

I have been watching some friends of mine go through their first pregnancies recently, and it’s brought back a lot of memories of when I was pregnant with my kids. And the lessons that pregnancy taught me, the most important of which was that we don’t really have control over our lives as much as we think we do.

We get to make a lot of choices in our lives, every day. Which shirt am I going to put on? What kind of coffee will I order at Starbucks today? What route will I take home from work? What will I cook for dinner, or will I just order a pizza? What TV show will I watch? We make so many choices that we think we have control over everything in our lives.

But we don’t. And pregnancy, and parenthood, remind us of that every day. Our bodies change when there is a fetus in them. We get morning sickness, and we pee ourselves. We become anemic and our thyroids go wonky and we develop diabetes. Our feet swell and our hips ache. None of these are things we have any control over. They just happen, because we don’t have control over our bodies.

I, like a lot of women, had a lot of plans for how the birth of my first child would go. In no version of any plan I had was there a NICU team present. My body made that happen when it decided it couldn’t carry The Boy to term. I didn’t choose for him to be born the way he was, or to spend the first 9 weeks of his life in a hospital. It was a harsh lesson for me that I didn’t have control over everything that happens to me, and I certainly didn’t have control over what my body did.

When I was pregnant with The Girl, I didn’t make plans about her birth, because I knew that in the end, I wouldn’t have control over what my body did. The best I could muster were wishes, and even those didn’t all come true. There was a NICU team at her birth too, because there was meconium in my amniotic fluid. And although her birth was a much happier experience than The Boy’s was–complete with Frank Sinatra playing, and surrounded by wonderful, supportive people–having the NICU team in the room was not one of my wishes.

When I hear my friends talk about what they want for the birth of their children, about their plans for the birth, my heart drops a little. I hope they will get what they want, but I also know that in the end, it isn’t going to be their choice to make. That c-section may have to happen, no matter how much they want a home birth. They may want an epidural, but labor may move too quickly for it to happen. There may be a NICU team in the room. They might not get to hold their baby right away, or for days. None of these things will be their choice, because they don’t have control over what their bodies do, or what the baby needs. And that’s just the start of the lack of control we have over our lives when we become parents. Nobody chooses to clean up baby puke at 2 AM, it just happens. That’s life.

This is one of the main reasons I believe so strongly that it’s really stupid to judge each other for how things go when we parent, and why mommy wars over the best way to give birth seem particularly absurd to me. Because, in the end, having the birth we want, or having the child we imagined, is not something we have much control over. The best we can do is play the hand we are dealt and hope for the best.

Public Transit and Kids

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

So, here’s where I tell you something profoundly weird about myself: I don’t drive. If I were 15 years younger, or lived in Manhattan, you probably would think nothing of it, since Millennials drive less and less, and loads of people in Manhattan don’t drive. But I live in Seattle and I’m 37. People often ask how it works for our family, and the answer is, The Hubs drives, and we live in a city filled with buses. It’s not that huge a deal.

When I tell people I don’t drive, they often say, “I can’t imagine taking kids on the bus.” Honestly, most people of my income level don’t take their kids on public transit much, but if you ride the bus, you’ll see plenty of kids. Having a car is expensive, it just is. You have to pay for the car, the insurance, gas, sometimes a place to park it. So, a lot of poor folks in cities rely entirely on transit to get around. That includes a trip to the grocery store, picking kids up from daycare, and getting to work. If poor folks can do it, so can the rest of us. You just have to know what you’re doing.

First off, the key to using public transit, with kids or without, in your own town or while traveling on vacation, is to pack lightly. Do not bring your ginormous travel system barely-foldable stroller. Do not bring your largest diaper bag packed to the gills with everything you might possibly want while out and about. Instead, bring an umbrella stroller, or if your kid is still small enough, a baby carrier or wrap or sling. In my city, you have to fold your stroller and carry it, your kid, and your bag on and off the bus. An umbrella stroller, especially one with a shoulder strap so you can toss it over your shoulder, is better. And my easiest bus trips with the kids have been when they are small enough to be in a baby carrier. It keeps them calm, and contained, and my hands free.

The more you have to lug up the steps of a bus, the more unhappy you will be. To paraphrase the great Rick Steves on packing light, I don’t know anyone who, after multiple trips on public transit, brags that each trip they pack heavier. Don’t ask yourself “Will I use that heavy board book on this bus ride.” Ask, “Will I use it enough to warrant carrying it around all day.” If you find yourself without something you really need, remember that you’re in a city and there is likely a drug store or grocery store nearby where you can buy replacement supplies. It’s a different mindset than most parents are used to having–there is this sense of panic, like, what if I get there and I don’t have what I need? I will ask you this: are you taking public transit to a three-day backpacking trip in the wilderness, or to the mall for a couple hours? Honestly, you’re gonna be OK.

I’m also a fan of a backpack vs. a shoulder bag. A shoulder bag can fall off your shoulders while you’re wrestling with a squirming kid, but a backpack keeps your hands free. Super double bonus if you can wear a backpack on your back and your kid on your front. Also: once your kids get older? Make THEM wear the backpack. Did I just blow your mind? I totally did, didn’t I? Make them schlep their own crap around, WHAAAAAA?!?! I know, it’s brilliant.

Another practical tip: sit near the driver of whatever transit mode you’re on. You’ll be able to ask questions if you’re confused about where to get off the bus, and you’re likely to be closer to the door, so it’s easier to get on/off. The Boy LOVES sitting by the driver on the Monorail, and often the driver lets the kids blow the horn when the Monorail is leaving the station.

The other thing is, it can be hard for car-oriented people to get past the idea that the bus takes longer than driving. It does take longer, i am not gonna lie. But, try to see transit not just as a way to get from here to there–see it as entertainment for your kid, especially if you don’t use it that often. The Boy and I love to take transit adventures together. One time on a day off from school, I took the kids downtown on the bus, where we rode the streetcar, the monorail, and the light rail. They had a BLAST. Also, a couple years back, The Boy and I took a one-night cruise from Vancouver back to Seattle, so we took a bus downtown to catch an Amtrak train to get to the Skytrain to get to the cruise ship in Vancouver. He LOVED that trip.

Now, here’s the other thing about public transit: it’s public. So, anyone can ride it, including smelly homeless people and people with bad manners and crack heads. I see this as a teachable moment. I want my kids to know that there are homeless people in the world, and that they’re people, and that it’s right to want to help them. I want them to not be afraid to say hello back to the friendly old lady who says how cute they are, AND, I want them to learn to trust their instinct that the mean crack head is not someone they want to talk to. If I am there with them, I know they are learning these lessons in a safe environment where I can protect them.

If all that freaks you out and makes you uncomfortable, well, the bus is probably not for you. But if you’ve got a sense of adventure, give transit a try. You might be surprised how much you and your kids enjoy it!

On Assholery: Part 2

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

A few weeks ago, my angry blaspheme-filled blog post On Assholery blew up. By blew up, I mean I had 200 times the usual hits on my blog, and zillions of comments. You’d think that would be a good thing, but it turns out that when your blog gets a lot of visitors, it doesn’t mean people actually read the blog and understood what you were saying. And the comments got extremely nasty. One woman posted about her post-partum depression and another commenter called her weak (in less nice terms) for having a mental illness. On a post about NOT BEING AN ASSHOLE. I deleted that one. My first deleted comment, pretty sure that means I am a real blogger now, right? Sigh. The little troll-free corner of the internet I had was fun while it lasted.

There were also a zillion “yeah, fuck breast feeders, they’re assholes” comments on that post. In fact, yesterday (which you may recall was CHRISTMAS), someone posted that breast feeding is child molestation and that women who breast feed are mentally ill. No, I am not making that up. I deleted that one too.

Guess what? I breast fed and pumped for The Girl, and I exclusively pumped for The Boy, for a year with each of them. The Boy got formula added to his breast milk in the NICU to help fatten him up faster, and we fed our kids the free can of formula you get in the mail unsolicited when you get pregnant, but otherwise, I fed them from my boobs. In fact, with both kids, I produced so much breast milk, we gave it away to other families to feed their kids with. I had boobs of steel, I was a poster child for the model breast feeding working mom. And you know what? I STILL think people who shit on formula-feeding moms are assholes. AND, I also think people who shit on breast feeding moms are assholes. Breast feeding is a perfectly healthy normal way to feed your child. It is not child molestation. It is not a mental illness. If you call someone a mentally ill child molester for feeding their child from their breast, you are an asshole. You are the reason we can’t have nice things. You are ruining our world.

Like, do I not make it clear, in every fucking post on this blog, that I think people who shit on other moms for doing it differently are being assholes? How could I be more clear about it? What would I need to do to make it more clear that this blog is, and always has been, about accepting that there are lots of different ways to parent, and there is no one right answer? DO I NEED TO WRITE IN ALL CAPS TO GET THAT THROUGH TO PEOPLE?!?! Christ on a cracker.

And what makes me the most frustrated is that I am probably feeding some trolls with this post. I wanted to share a post today about The Boy and his adorableness, because it’s the fucking holidays, and instead here I am, asking people yet again to stop being assholes. Just, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to have to write any more posts like this.

On Assholery

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

I am kinda pissed off right now. And when I say kinda, I mean I AM FUCKING PISSED OFF RIGHT NOW. I am pissed off enough that I am going to move beyond cursing and into the realm of blaspheming. Which, if you know me, you know that means that my frustration level is now at 11. And after you read this, you’re gonna be like “Damn, that Beth sure has a temper…but she also has a point.” Get the popcorn, because here I go.

Here’s the scenario, and you’ve probably seen this happen too: the Facebook page of a major retailer announced coupons on formula. Which is a good thing because formula is so ridiculously expensive. I mean seriously, is it made of Jesus poop or something? Why the hell is it so expensive? Anyway, of course because it has to do with feeding your child, a bunch of pompous windbags start commenting on the post that breast is best and formula is poison and anyone who feeds their kids formula is a horrible mother because they just didn’t try hard enough to nurse.

I CAN’T EVEN WITH THESE PEOPLE. Who the fuck do you think you are, Jesus Joseph and Mary? Seriously, what gives you the right to tell other parents how to care for their children? Do you honestly believe that calling someone a bad mother is going to make them change their ways? No really, I want to know if someone called you a bad mother for feeding your child a particular way, would that asshole’s behavior be the thing that made you say “I am going to give up breast feeding and buy some expensive formula?” Really?

I am not even going to go into the whole part about how there are lots of reasons that are completely beyond the control of a mother that would make her avoid breast feeding. Oh wait, yes I am. How about cancer treatment? Taking medications that are unsafe for baby? Milk production problems? Nipple trauma? HIV? A traumatic birth experience that made nursing impossible? Tuberculosis? Hepatitis C? Or, how about the kid is adopted? Shall I go on? Oh, you say, but that’s only a handful of people, you say, everyone else should be nursing, you say. A handful, really? How about one in 9 babies are born premature in the US every year, for a starter? Holy Mary mother of God, are you kidding me?

But that isn’t really the point. Because, this isn’t actually about breast vs. bottle, is it? The point isn’t whether a mom has a good reason to feed their baby a certain way. The point is, YOU have no good reason to be judging someone else for making choices about how to raise their own children. And this is the part where I go all libertarian liberal on you: how you choose to raise you kids is NONE OF MY BUSINESS. If you’re not abusing or neglecting them, or raising them in a way that harms my children, then who the hell I am to tell you how to be a parent? I am nobody, that’s who. AND SO ARE YOU. Speaking of blaspheming, how about a little judge not lest ye be judged? You think Jesus, or Buddha for that matter, would get on a message board and say “That is a bad mother right there, she feeds her kid formula”? REALLY?

Here is the thing, I’m gonna take a deep breath because clearly I am pissed, and screaming at you isn’t helping things. Iiiiiiiiinnnnnnhale, and exhaaaaaaaaalllle. OK. When you shit on another parent, what you are doing is keeping all of us, all moms, from moving forward. Your comments keep us from advocating for each other. Because of you, another mom will hide the truth of her life, out of fear that someone will tell her she is a bad mom. In short, it is your fault we don’t have universal preschool for our children and paid maternity leave. Because unless we stop shitting on each other and come together to fight for the things we need, we’re gonna keep right on working to pay for preschool for our kids when we should be on maternity leave with their younger sibling, which makes it much harder to breast feed, WHICH WAS THE THING YOU WERE TRYING TO PRMOTE WITH YOUR ASSHOLERY IN THE FIRST PLACE. THIS IS WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS.

Christ on a cracker, I can’t even with these people. Just, everyone stop it. Stop trying to convince the world that they should live YOUR way, and parent YOUR way, and just handle your OWN business. Just, STOP.

Kid Birthday Parties

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

I’m just gonna come out and say it: I hate kid birthday parties. A couple years ago, we had The Boy’s 5th birthday party and I didn’t invite my local BFF, who had no kids at the time. And she was kind of taken aback, because, she’s my local BFF, and she was like, “You didn’t invite me to The Boy’s birthday party?” But honestly, it never occurred to me to invite her, because who the fuck wants to go to a kid birthday party unless they absolutely have to? Like, seriously, entertaining one or two kids is hard enough. Being in a room with 10 or 20 of them that are hopped up on sugar? Yeah, that is pretty much a nightmare.

One of the ways kid birthday parties can be less awful is if the other parents are cool. Over the years, we’ve had mostly awesome kids and parents going to the awesome daycare where The Boy used to go and The Girl still goes. The kids have one friend from there who I really hope one of them marries, because her parents would make kick-ass inlaws. Parties with them aren’t so bad. If you don’t really know the other parents, though, as is often the case now that The Boy is in elementary school, it’s just awkward. It’s like being on a first date, which I don’t ever want to have to do again, like, isn’t that why you get married? But with even more pressure than a first date, because what if the other parents are Judgy McJudgersons and won’t let their kid come over for a play date after they discover you’re not a perfect parent? And now you kid will never have a social life?

But the thing I hate most about birthday parties is the party favors. Jesus, the horrible crap that we all end up bringing home from other kids’ parties. Tiny tins of play dough, glow in the dark rings, a bouncy ball. My kids act like that stuff is the best toy they have ever seen in their lives and they don’t want to give it up, so we end up with bins full of the junk. I have to sneak them out of the house when the kids are in bed or we’d be buried alive under a pile of plastic crap that was made in China. And I am just as guilty as the other parents of giving out crap as party favors, because that’s the only way to make party favors affordable. I mean, after spending money on food and decorations and your own present for your kid, there isn’t a whole lot of money left for the party favors for the 20 kids that The Boy insisted we invite because they are all his very best friends in the whole world I really mean it mom I love them all so much please can I invite them all to the party don’t make me choose between Caden and Aidan and Hayden. Ugggghhhhh.

I am really looking forward to when my kids are old enough to just get dropped off at birthday parties. I know the teen years come with a whole host of other problems (if we get through high school without anyone getting pregnant, I will do a victory dance), but at least I won’t have to stand around chatting awkwardly with people I barely know while wondering how I will smuggle yet another 4-pack of crayons out of our house.

I am Judgy McJudgerson

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

Recently I had a conversation with a friend whose kids are grown. By that, I mean they are out of college, and working. But like many people of their generation, they are still financially dependent on their parents.

There’s been a lot written and said about the Millennial generation and how they just can’t seem to “grow up” and act like adults. Why are they living at home? Why aren’t they working harder? What is wrong with them?

I am going to confess something right now: I have been Judgy McJudgersoning the parents of Millennials. I have been “blaming” them for what is “wrong” with their children. But the more I think about it, the more I realize I am an asshole for that.

The story I had bought into about Millennials is this: their parents were a generation of helicopter parents, indulging them in everything they could possibly want, protecting them from the world, never giving them an opportunity to take risks, never making them work hard, helping them with everything along the way. So, now they are a bunch of entitled assholes who mooch off their parents instead of taking responsibility for their own lives. That is to say, Mommy fucked them up.

Just writing that out, I mean, what kind of a judgmental asshole am I for thinking that about someone? Let alone a whole generation?

Let’s start over. First off, as usual, when we talk about Millennials finishing college and not becoming self-supporting, let’s remember we’re talking about the ones who came from families who could afford to send them to college and then support them financially after they graduated. Is that what’s happening in poor communities? I think not. Poor Millennials are living a VERY different life than the ones we read about in the paper.

Then there’s the part where we don’t talk about the Great Recession killing off middle class jobs. It is not easy to work at Walmart (the job you can get these days when you have little work experience beyond whatever part time work you did to help pay for college) and pay off your student loans. Also, let’s remember that tuition costs have EXPLODED. When I graduated from a private college in 1998, tuition was around $20,000 a year. It’s more than twice that now, only 15 years later. Tuition at the public law school I graduated from in 2001 has TRIPLED, in just 12 years. It makes sense that middle class parents, who are much more likely to have good paying jobs than their children, are helping their adult children financially.

Also, is it so bad that the Millennial generation values things other than financial success? Like their relationships with others? And a sense of doing something good in the world? Why is any of that a bad thing?

See, The Cult of Perfect Motherhood tells you that you are damned if you do, and damned if you don’t. Be completely dedicated to your children, read every study, apply every parenting tip, because if you don’t, you are going to ruin their lives. But if you DO apply every parenting tip, give them all your attention and meet all their needs, you are smothering them to death and they will never learn to stand on their own two feet.

Fuck that noise.

My friend is doing what she thinks is best for her kids. I am doing what I think is best for mine. We might make different choices, but we are living in different circumstances. And most importantly, we both love our children. She is not a bad parent and neither am I.

So, I am going to stop Judgy McJudgersoning the “helicopter parent” generation. I will keep talking about why I parent the way I do, and why I think parenting from a place of fear and guilt is not a good idea. But I will not put down other moms who made different choices than me, because just like me, they are doing what they think is best for their children.

And I will hope that the economy is less insane when it comes time for my kids to take flight.

World Prematurity Day

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

Today is World Prematurity Day, which is a day when people and organizations join together to raise awareness about premature birth. When I started this blog, I thought I would write more about prematurity and The Boy’s time in the NICU, but I haven’t. I think the reason why is, it’s hard. I mean, really fucking hard. I promise I WILL write it sometime, but I am just not in that headspace right now, and it may take something longer than a blog post, or even a series of them. I will say this: I hope it’s the worst thing that will ever happen to me in my life, because honestly, I don’t have any interest in finding out how much more shit I could handle.

What I want to write about today is about how to be helpful to a friend when they have a preemie. Because, I can’t even tell you how many times I get that question from people in my life. They come to me and say “Hey, my friend/cousin/coworker just had a preemie, what do I do?” Oh gosh, where to start? I guess I will start with this chart, which is just so amazingly brilliant. Go read it and internalize it and then come back. No, seriously, I’ll wait. Done? Good.

When you have a preemie, it’s like, you just had a baby, so you want to celebrate, right? I mean, that’s what we do when people have babies–it’s life renewing itself, they’re adorable, all that jazz. So, first things first, CELEBRATE that baby. Be excited for those parents. Ask if you can se a photo of the baby and say “Aw, so cute!” Help those parents be happy about the addition to their family.

But, also be aware, this isn’t a normal birth experience. This is a kid in the hospital. Your friend’s kid is in the HOSPITAL. Let that sink in for a minute–imagine if your kid was in the hospital, what would your life look like? Empathy is going to be really helpful in this situation.

It’s OK to ask questions about how the baby is doing, and the answers you get are going to tell you a lot about what that family is facing. A LOT about how that NICU experience plays out is going to depend on two things: how early the baby was born, and whether the baby has any complications during the NICU stay. In our case, The Boy was born pretty early–27 weeks instead of 40. Babies born at 23/24 weeks are about the youngest that can realistically survive. They are going to have very very long NICU stays, probably lasting past their due date, and will spend a lot of time on some kind of respiratory support. 25-32 weekers are hit or miss–some have very long NICU stays; others, like The Boy, come home a couple weeks before their due date. Babies born after 32 weeks tend to have short NICU stays unless there are complications.

And Jesus, the complications. This is one reason why I would never ever ever be dismissive to a parent whose baby was born less premature than The Boy. Because, The Boy didn’t have complications. He didn’t get any infections, which can kill preemies alarmingly easily. He didn’t have anything wrong with his heart or his digestive tract, both of which can extend a NICU stay and require surgery. He was what we in the NICU world call a feeder and grower. He ate and he grew until he was strong enough to come home. He had good days and bad ones, but his course towards discharge was pretty unremarkable. A 34 weeker with necrotizing enterocolitis? Yeah, they had it way worse than us, despite being born less early.

BUT! Gigantic huge BUT here…no matter how short a NICU stay is, it is too long. Five minutes in the NICU is too long. So, don’t belittle a parent’s trauma by saying things like “Oh, only 5 weeks early? That’s good, it’ll be a short NICU stay.” NO. It is not “good.” That it could be worse does not mean that it doesn’t suck. Go back and read my post on comparative pain. No seriously, go read it, I will wait here for you. You’re back? Good. Every minute in the NICU sucks. You are not asking questions in hopes of dismissing someone else’s trauma. You are asking so you know what kind of support is likely to be most useful.

Once you have a sense of whether this kid’s NICU stay is going to be a couple of days, a couple of weeks, a couple of months, or longer, then you’ll have a sense of what is helpful. If you’re in the weeks/months range? Buy them gift cards for whatever restaurant is near the hospital (I’m talking as close to the hospital as possible), or pack them a picnic to take to the hospital. You spend a lot of time at the hospital as a parent of a preemie, and cafeteria food gets old very fast. Also, hang in there with them–a long NICU stay is, well, long. And by a couple of months in, a lot of people have dropped out of being supportive.

For any length of stay, offer to do their laundry or clean their house, and when they say, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose on you to do that,” say “Please. Not imposing, I am offering, and it would be my pleasure.” Man, what I wouldn’t have given for someone to clean the house for me, so when we came home from a late night at the NICU, the bathroom was clean and the sheets were washed. But I was too uncomfortable to ask, and nobody knew to offer. And ask them if there are any supplies they may need that they hadn’t gotten around to buying yet, like diapers or bottles.

This is a huge thing: when the baby comes home, DO NOT BRING ANY GERMS ANYWHERE NEAR THE BABY. You want to be the one responsible for putting that kid back in the hospital? I didn’t think so. That preemie’s parent is not being paranoid when they say you can’t come over when you have the sniffles. They’re protecting their baby’s fragile lungs, which are way more fragile than a full-term baby’s lungs. The Boy came home from the NICU with bronchopulmonary dysplasia (BPD), and he was one of the “healthier” preemies. Look, I have kids, I get it about the constant stream of boogers coming from their noses in winter. I get that if you wait for everyone in your household to be well, you might not visit that preemie until spring. And I am sorry for your disappointment, but is your disappointment worth risking that preemie’s life? If the preemie’s parents say stay away, please, don’t be a douche about it. It’s hard enough being a shut-in all flu season without a guilt trip from your friends and family.

Most of all, just listen. It makes a huge difference to NICU families to know that someone cares. When The Boy was in the NICU, I quickly learned who I could count on as a friend, and who I couldn’t. The ones who I couldn’t? They didn’t want to listen when I talked about the rough times. They didn’t want to hear the horrible empty feelings I was having, that despite having just given birth, I didn’t feel like I was a real mom. Don’t be that person who can’t be counted on, because I promise you, it will be very hard to fix that relationship afterward.

If you’re looking for other resources on prematurity and how to support NICU families, go check out the March of Dimes website. They have great info, including what little we know about preventing prematurity, and a great message board community for NICU families. I raise money for the March if Dimes every year, because they’re an awesome organization, and their volunteers kept me sane during our NICU stay.

And, I usually am shitty about answering comments here because I am the laziest person you know, but I promise if any of you post a question on this post, I will respond.

Now, go hug a NICU parent! Because, they could probably use one.

Grown-Up Movies for Kids: Rudy

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

You probably realized by now that I like writing series, like Cocktails with the Cult and my Children’s Television Survival Guide. Today I am starting a new occasional series I am calling Grown-Up Movies for Kids. These are movies that when you tell your friends that your kid loves them, they’ll look at you like you are insane. Because, everyone seems to think that kids can only watch movies with cartoon characters in them or, I don’t know, they’ll be bored into a coma and die or something. Bullshit. My kids like plenty of non-cartoon movies, you just have to know the right ones.

Now, I am not talking about movies that are too mature for kids–no exploding skulls, no porno, not even soft core. I am not an idiot, Judgy McJudgerson. I am talking about movies that grown-ups think of as grown-up movies, but that kids may very much love as well. They may have some swear words in them, but in our house, we don’t treat swear words as taboo. We teach our kids when it’s appropriate to use them (in the privacy of your own home, when Grandma isn’t visiting) and when it’s not (“you will get sent to the principal’s office for using that word at school”). So, you may want to watch a few of these movies, like today’s selection, only on basic cable, where the swears have been edited out.

Alright, let’s dive into our first selection: Rudy, from 1993, starring Sean Astin. Astin plays Rudy Rutiger, an actual Notre Dame football player, and the film is loosely based on the real Rudy’s life. Rudy is a tiny man (there is a reason Astin was cast as a Hobbit) who loves football, specifically Notre Dame football, and wants more than anything to play for the Irish. Alas, he did horrible in high school (turns out he had an undiagnosed learning disability), so rather than continuing onto college after graduation, he goes to work at the steel mill with his dad and brothers.

His life is plodding along until his friend Pete does in a fire–you might want to fast forward through that part–and Rudy realizes life is short and you gotta live your dreams. So, he gets on a bus to North Bend and talks to a priest, who helps him enroll at the junior college. Rudy studies hard and exercises and gets a part time job so he can afford food, and after several attempts, he is able to transfer to Notre Dame. (That scene makes me weepy every time.) He walks onto the football team, although he’s tiny and hasn’t got much skill, because he has so much heart. And because of that heart, the coach lets him play in the last game of his senior year, and the other players carry him off the field at the end of the game (like, in a triumphant way, not in a spinal injury stretcher sort of way).

Rudy also features a very young pre-Swingers John Favreau and Vince Vaughn, and a post-Mystic Pizza Lili Taylor. Honestly? It’s a super cheesy movie, but in a good way, because it’s about hard work and determination paying off. It’s about things that aren’t easy being worth the effort. And, it’s about believing in yourself even when everyone else says something is impossible. Which are really good lessons for kids.

The Boy went though a stretch when he was about 4 where this was literally his favorite movie, like, over Cars or Shrek or whatever. He’s probably seen it 20 times. And, you can buy it online for like $5, since it’s so old.

School Aged Parenting

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

I am suuuuper lucky to live next door to an awesome licensed daycare, run by a woman who has an enormous heart. We moved into our house almost a year before The Boy was born, so we had some time living next door to the daycare before The Boy started there, which meant we had time to observe how awesome our neighbor is with kids. She’s like the Toddler Whisperer. If I had to deal with 8 kids ages 18 months to 5 years old, I would shoot myself. This woman says it’s her calling, she’s amazing. If you live in Seattle and you need childcare, drop me an email and I’ll send you her info.

An awesome daycare means you don’t have to worry about your kids’ safety. It also means you don’t have to worry about making them a healthy breakfast or lunch. And if you need a babysitter on a Friday night, you know someone awesome. Your life as a parent is made immeasurably better by a quality child care provider.

The only problem with finding an awesome daycare is, when your kid starts elementary school, it’s like being thrown into a tornado. Holy cow, there is so much crap we have to deal with for The Boy from his school. There are events all the damn time. There’s picture day, there’s show and tell, there’s projects, there’s fundraisers…it’s just a lot. Last year, the last week of school, we as parents were invited to attend 4 different events on four different days during working hours. FOUR. I mean, I love The Boy’s school and the staff are amazing and he is happy and learning…but really, four events that working parents would need to skip work to attend? In one week?

Not to mention, now you’re making breakfast and lunch again (because, that school lunch is terrifying, have you seen it? Yikes). And because our daycare was next door, transportation to elementary school is way more complicated than it was for daycare. We also don’t get to check in with his teacher every day about how things are going, like we did with daycare. And, it’s not like we’re saving that much money, because we have to pay for before and after care, since school days are shorter than work days. Plus, there’s the whole summer thing, and winter break, and spring break, and the zillions of teacher in-service days and early dismissal days.

I feel like elementary school is still set up to work for families that have a stay at home parent who has time to come to school on a Wednesday at 3PM for some event, and volunteer in the classroom, and watch the kids during mid-winter break (why do we need one of these? The semester JUST started two weeks ago and we need a week off already?). And, 3/4 of families in America don’t have a stay at home parent now. I have a super flexible job, but I can’t always come to events that happen during the work day. Imagine if you’ve got a job that doesn’t offer the flexibility to take time off like mine does–like you’re a single low-income parent who doesn’t get vacation and sick days. It’s not really a feasible choice for that parent to miss work for a school event, is it? I wish schools would do a better job of thinking about what works for all families, and making it easier on us. Because, kids learn better when their families aren’t over-stressed.

I’m coping with being a parent of a school-aged kid by remembering that what makes me a good mom isn’t how much I volunteer at The Boy’s school. It’s that I love my kids and I am helping them grow up strong and smart and kind. And that I have also found them wonderful adults who love them and want the best for them and are willing to help out. Because, there is no way in hell I could do this alone.